


Sixteen And A Half Words

by AVAAntares



Category: Torchwood
Genre: 5 Times, Canon Compliant, Episode: Big Finish Special 2: Outbreak, Hypervodka (Doctor Who), Love Confessions, M/M, Miscommunication, Romance, Weevils (Torchwood)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-05 20:11:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11585337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AVAAntares/pseuds/AVAAntares
Summary: Five times Jack said “I love you,” and one time he didn’t. A history of miscommunication, and the importance of things left unsaid.Spoilers forTorchwood: Outbreak.





	1. Chapter 1

 

* * *

Ianto: “I love you! Please, I can’t imagine my life without you, and I know you can’t imagine yours without me either.”

— _Torchwood: Outbreak_

* * *

Jack never expected a confession.

Oh, certainly, he _knew_ that Ianto Jones loved him, in an academic sense. It was evident in the way the younger man looked at him, touched him, cared for his needs, and followed him with such blind loyalty that Jack almost felt guilty issuing orders, as though he were taking advantage of Ianto’s trust. It was obvious even to the rest of the team that Ianto was devoted to Jack, both professionally and personally. But Jack had never expected Ianto to admit it out loud. And perhaps Ianto hadn’t, either; the words slipped out as though by accident.

It happened on a typical Torchwood Tuesday: The city was going to hell after a crashed transport ship had released a dozen small, feisty, acid-spitting aliens in Newtown. The creatures had immediately scattered and gone on a rampage, resulting in multiple civilian casualties and at least one critically-injured police constable. The team was stretched thin, with Jack and Owen trying to corral the stoat-like creatures while Gwen and Toshiko facilitated damage control for the victims and the local structures the aliens had vandalized. Ianto coordinated their efforts from the SUV while making equipment runs.

Jack and Owen had managed to corner several of the aliens in a car park, and Jack had gone in alone to wrangle them into the makeshift containment unit—a massive glass aquarium that Ianto had requisitioned from a local pet store. Jack had emerged from the confrontation with one leg gnawed to a pulp and half of his left arm burned away nearly to the bone. As he staggered clear of the structure, bordering on shock from the blood loss and pain, he scarcely registered Ianto scrambling out of the driver’s seat and diving for the medical kit in the back of the SUV.

Jack had recovered enough to be issuing orders by the time Ianto reached him. “Owen, get that aquarium properly contained as fast as you can,” he panted. “Have the local police help you move it, but make sure everyone has protective gear. The glass will resist acid, but the rubber seals on the corners won’t. We don’t want any more of Cardiff’s finest ending up like…” He couldn’t resist glancing down at his arm, and for a moment he swayed on his feet.

Ianto’s arm around his shoulders steadied him, and for an instant Jack wanted nothing more than to fall into that embrace and succumb to the blackness at the edges of his vision, to shut out the pain for a little while. But from the car park he could hear the enraged squealing of the trapped aliens, and he knew he didn’t have the luxury of recovery time. Jack jerked his head up and focused on Owen’s retreating form to steady himself before tapping his comm unit. “Tosh, where are we with the CCTV?”

As Toshiko’s reply hummed in his ear, Ianto opened the kit and began fussing over Jack’s blistered arm. The pain was so intense Jack could scarcely concentrate on what Toshiko was saying, but he shrugged off Ianto’s attentions. “Fine. Keep me posted,” he told her at last, and cut the comm connection. “Ianto, don’t bother with that right now. We’ve got to round up the rest of those things before anyone else gets killed.”

Ianto continued his ministrations. “This is bad, Jack. Let me patch you up. It won’t take long.”

Jack reached over with his good arm and grabbed a dose of paracetamol from the kit. He tore the paper packet open with his teeth and swallowed the pills dry. “There, done. Let’s go.” He began limping unsteadily toward the SUV, trying not to notice the trail of blood he was leaving on the pavement. _Damn_ , those acid burns hurt, but he needed to keep moving.

Ianto stepped into his path and brandished a can of antiseptic spray. “Jack, hold still.”

Jack scowled at the delay. “I don’t need it. I’ll be fine.”

Ianto gestured redundantly at his mutilated limbs. “But you’re hurt!”

Jack didn’t need an observer to tell him that, what with pain pulsing through his body with every heartbeat, but just now there were more important things to think about. He pushed the physical to the back of his mind and focused on the urgency of his mission. “Doesn’t matter. It’s not like it can kill me.”

 _“That's_ _not the point!"_

Jack stared at him. Ianto had half-turned away, but he looked close to tears. “Then what is?” Jack demanded, though the broken look on Ianto’s face made his question less harsh than it could have been.

Ianto drew a shaky breath. “You’re hurt, Jack. You’re _hurting_. I know you’ll recover, but… Do you have any idea what it does to me to see you in pain?” He shook his head, eyes pressed shut. “I watched Lisa languish for months, in agony, and I swore I’d never let that happen again.” He opened his eyes, and his steady gaze met Jack’s. “I can’t bear to see someone I love suffer.”

The admission startled Jack right out from behind his brave facade, and he stepped closer. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, extending his good arm to touch Ianto’s hand. “I didn’t think… I didn’t realize how this would affect you.” He sighed. “Look, we really can’t take the time right now, because the longer we delay catching those acid-weasel things, the more people are going to get hurt—and they won’t recover like I will. But as soon as we get the rest of them contained, I’ll get patched up, okay? I promise. You can do it yourself, or sic Owen on me. Your choice.”

Ianto nodded tersely, and Jack started once more toward the SUV, turning Ianto’s revelation over and over in his mind.

* * *

In the weeks that followed, Jack found himself analyzing every facet of their relationship through this new lens. He had read into Ianto’s actions before, but now he knew the thoughtful touches weren’t unconscious acts of kindness, but expressions of affection. Jack _knew_ that Ianto loved him, and he knew that Ianto himself had realized it. And since Ianto had doubtless caught his own slip of the tongue (or was it deliberate?), Ianto would know that Jack knew.

The trouble was, Jack wasn’t sure if Ianto’s admission obligated him to return the words or not. After all, it wasn’t as though Ianto had come right out and declared his love in so many words… but he _had_ admitted his feelings out loud, to Jack. Where did that leave them?

Part of Jack wanted to return the declaration; Ianto deserved to know how Jack felt about him. But another part of Jack held back, knowing that his relationships always ended badly—well, they always ended, _period_. He knew Ianto, like turtledoves and wolves, was the sort of creature who would mate for life. Jack… well, Jack’s situation was different.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t fall in love. He did, regularly. And it wasn’t as though he couldn’t handle monogamy—he’d been married before, and even in his youth he’d had a few committed long-term relationships. But since he had stopped aging, no lover had ever fully been able to accept growing old and withering while Jack stayed young and healthy.

He had a suspicion that Ianto, with his unmatched loyalty and empathy, might. But it was only a suspicion, and Jack wasn’t sure he wanted to risk the resentment and rejection that had poisoned his previous loves. Jack knew his own nature, and he knew from the tragedy with Lisa how deeply and devotedly Ianto was capable of loving. Even without vows, declaring his love aloud would bind his heart inextricably to Ianto’s, and the inevitable separation would break them both.

After hours of fretting and internal debate about whether or not he should confess his feelings to Ianto, Jack finally reached a compromise: He’d do just what Ianto had, and look for an opportunity to slip the admission obliquely into a conversation. He’d be honest about his feelings if an appropriate opportunity presented itself, but he wouldn’t force it. Fate would decide when and if he shared his love aloud.

But Fate, as it turned out, was no less complicated than their convoluted relationship demanded. 


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

Jack: “I love you, Ianto Jones. You know that, don’t you?”  
Ianto: “Oh, you’re only saying that because of the virus.”

— _Torchwood: Outbreak_

* * *

 

The next few days were challenging for all of them. Jack had barely recovered from his acid burns when he was shot dead by a pelt smuggler looking to make a quick credit or two harvesting the skin of human vagrants. He gasped back to life in Ianto’s arms, but the presence of P.C. Andy Davidson a short distance away kept Jack from making any emotional declarations. Still, he leaned into Ianto’s embrace, breathed deeply, and allowed himself a few seconds to absorb the sensations of _warm_ and _protected_ and _loved_ before climbing to his feet to resume the chase.

Scarcely twenty-four hours later saw Torchwood combating a dangerous radiation leak, a rogue Weevil, an invasive alien algae that thrived on—and devoured—roof shingles, and an outbreak of Panderian measles, which they managed to restrict to Splott by bombing the surrounding areas with an aerosolized vaccine. Working around the clock, the rest of the team were sleeping in shifts on the Hub sofa, and Jack wasn’t sleeping at all.

Even Ianto looked slightly bedraggled when he appeared in Jack’s office Saturday morning, bearing a tray. “Morning, sir,” he greeted Jack, who was mindlessly scrawling his signature on the reports from the spate of crises.

Jack dropped his pen and rubbed at bleary eyes. “Is it morning already?”

“I’ve just come from outdoors, and the sun is indeed visible in the sky.” Ianto pursed his lips. “A bleak, dreary Cardiff sky, but the sun has risen nonetheless.”

Jack took in the appearance of his general factotum. Ianto’s suit was rumpled, and still bore smudges of algae around the knees and elbows. Jack knew Ianto had spent the previous day power-spraying algaecide on the roofs of Plasnewydd, but he’d been back in the Hub by suppertime. “You didn’t go home last night?”

Ianto shook his head. “Took my turn kipping on the sofa, like the others. Figured you’d need everyone close by in case of another emergency.”

Jack frowned. “You didn’t have to. You could have used my bed.”

Ianto shrugged, not quite smoothly. “I didn’t… I wasn’t sure if that would be appropriate, during work hours.”

“Ianto, the whole team knows you stay over sometimes,” Jack sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Besides, it’s not as though I’ve _seen_ my bed during the past forty-eight hours, so there wouldn’t be anything untoward about you sleeping there.”

“That’s another issue entirely,” Ianto muttered. He cleared a corner of Jack’s desk and set down a plate bearing a couple of pastries and some dubious fast food invention consisting of bread, cheese, and a geometric fried egg patty. “I can’t catch you up on sleep, but I’ve brought you breakfast. It’s not fancy, but we’ve run out of nearly everything in the Hub, and I haven’t had time to go to the market, so it was takeaway or nothing.”

“It’s great. Thanks.”

“Though I’m sure what you really want is this.” Ianto handed over Jack’s preferred blue-and-white mug, filled nearly to the brim with fresh black coffee.

“You know me well.” Jack inhaled the rich aroma before taking his daily dose of caffeine internally. He moaned in appreciation; the coffee was _perfection_. His lips were still dangling in the cup when he murmured, “This is amazing. Have I ever told you I love you?”

From the corner of his eye Jack saw Ianto’s shoulders tense almost imperceptibly, but after an instant’s hesitation he replied smoothly, “Sir, if you’re going to make love to your breakfast, you might at least wait until I’ve left the room, for the sake of decorum.” He nodded toward the breakfast sandwich. “And the coffee is well enough, but if you ask me, you could do better than an egg-and-cheese bagel. You should set higher standards for yourself.”

Jack floundered mentally for a moment, but before he could sort out the turn the conversation had taken, Ianto had vanished through the office door. Jack sighed and drained the rest of his coffee, hoping the caffeine would help him make sense of it all.


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

[Jack] knew that Ianto was the one man he could trust. The man he… the man he knew loved him.

_— Torchwood: In the Shadows_

* * *

Soon the vagaries of attempting to communicate effectively with Ianto were the least of Jack’s concerns. Owen’s death and subsequent resurrection shocked them all, and despite Martha’s best efforts to take the doctor’s place, the entire team remained on edge for the first couple of weeks after it happened. Things came to a head shortly before Gwen’s wedding, just after Martha had returned to London.

For the third time in a week, Gwen had begged off work early to make wedding arrangements, leaving the others to pick up the slack. Her teammates did not find this arrangement satisfactory, and had become quite vocal on the subject.

“It’s not fair, Jack!” Toshiko cried when she’d found Gwen’s desk empty again. “She’s already taking the next two weeks off for her honeymoon! Why should we have to do her work _this_ week as well?”

Jack scrubbed a hand over his face. He was tired of arguing, tired of Gwen’s insistence, tired of putting out fires that weren’t his fault. “It’s her wedding week, Tosh. Once it’s all over, she’ll be back to work as usual. She’s already agreed to take some extra overnight shifts when she gets back, to make up for it.”

“Right, because her husband’s gonna be _thrilled_ that his new wife’s spending all her nights at the Hub,” Owen groused. “I give it two days before she’s batting those big doe eyes at Jack and asking for nights off.”

Jack scowled at him. “Are you volunteering, Owen? Because last I heard, you were still complaining about the effect being dead has on your social life. It’s not like you have anywhere else to be at night. You don’t even sleep any more.”

“Dead or no, I can still be driven mad by the sound of that bloody water tower,” Owen snapped. “I need time away from the Hub just like everyone else.”

“But apparently you have to be getting married in order to actually _get_ time away,” Toshiko muttered. She shot a hooded glance at Owen.

“Don’t look at me,” he said wryly. “Last I checked, only the living could register for marriage.”

Toshiko glanced up to the upper walkway, where Ianto was returning from feeding the pteranodon. “Ianto, we should get married. Then Jack will let us go home at a reasonable hour.”

Jack held out his arms in an appeal. “Ianto, a little help here?”

The younger man cocked his head and appeared to consider Toshiko’s suggestion. “Married? To each other, or just in general?”

Toshiko frowned. “It would be tricky to keep Torchwood a secret from both our spouses. I suppose we’d have to marry each other.”

“Hmm.” Ianto leaned over the rail. “It _would_ be nice to get home in time for _The Apprentice_ ,” he mused.

“Oh, you watch _The Apprentice_?” Toshiko turned her back on Jack and smiled engagingly up at Ianto.

“Whenever possible. But it’s on at nine, so I’ve missed a lot of it, working here.”

“Well, let’s get married, and then you can watch it whenever you like. We’ll just tell Jack we’re looking at flowers for the wedding or something.”

Jack’s mouth fell open. “Hello? Standing right here. Still the boss, remember?”

They both ignored him. “All right,” Ianto said with a shrug, starting down the stairs. “I suppose we should make it convincing. It’s traditional for the man to propose, but would you like to? It was your idea, after all.”

“Sure, I don’t mind. Hang on, let me find a ring…” Toshiko rifled through some dismantled electronics on her desk until she came up with the circular core of a small electromagnet. She stripped off some scraps of copper wire and held it up. “This should do, don’t you think?”

“Oh! Can I be your best man?” Owen cut in suddenly. “Then I’d be obligated to go to a lot of wedding rehearsals and fittings and things, right?”

Ianto nodded. “Sure, might as well. Gwen can fill in for the nights we’re all off for ‘wedding planning.’”

Toshiko glanced at the floor, frowning. “Do you mind if I don’t get down on one knee to propose? Only I’m worried the grating will snag my nylons.”

“We can’t have that,” Ianto replied with the utmost gravity. “Any woman I marry _must_ have presentable nylons. I’m very particular about that.”

“Enough!” Jack shouted over all of them. “Fine, I get the message. You’re not going to do any work tonight even if I make you stay, so go on. Get out. Go home. But I want each of you here _on time_ in the morning, ready to make up the work.”

“I’ll be here when Gwen is,” Toshiko answered sweetly. “I can track her phone with my PDA. I’ll know the moment she leaves her flat.”

“Oh, brilliant idea, Tosh,” Owen said. “Text me when she does, will you? My drive’s five minutes shorter than hers, so I can still make it here before her.”

When they had exited through the cog door, Jack blew out a long breath and watched Ianto perform his nightly routine, switching off various machines and wiping down the kitchen appliances. “Looks like the wedding’s off,” he called. He heard the sneer in his own voice and consciously checked his anger. “That’s too bad,” he added, forcing a note of playfulness into his words. “It’d be a good chance to see you in a tux.”

Ianto lifted his shoulders in a shrug and continued cleaning the coffee machine. “You may yet have the chance, if you continue giving Gwen preferential treatment over the rest of the team.”

Jack frowned. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“It’s what you have been doing, for weeks, whether or not you realize it. You give in to her every time. And the others notice.”

“Her wedding is a special occasion, a once-in-a-lifetime thing. And you know what she’d be like to live with if I didn’t. She’d never stop pushing.”

“She pushes because she knows if she does, you’ll let her do whatever she wants.” He paused to run water in the sink for the dishes. “You know I care about Gwen. She’s my friend, and I want her to be happy. But Tosh is right. It isn’t fair to make everyone else cover for her, time after time. They work hard enough as it is; they don’t need to carry Gwen’s workload as well.” He met Jack’s eyes over his shoulder. “You got off easy tonight. Next time it happens, you’ll have a full-scale mutiny on your hands. I doubt they’ll wait for you to dismiss them before leaving.”

Jack crossed his arms. “And I suppose you’ll walk out with them?”

Ianto shrugged again. “Don’t be surprised if I do, sir.”

Jack’s anger flared again—he always trusted Ianto to back him in matters of his authority, and coming from him, this insubordination was tantamount to betrayal—but he had to admit that Ianto had a point. He _did_ have a hard time saying no to Gwen, and perhaps some of the friction between himself and the rest of the team was his fault. He eyed Ianto’s rigid shoulders, clearly visible in waistcoat and rolled shirtsleeves as he washed their plates and coffee cups. “And are you walking out with them tonight?”

Ianto’s hands stilled for a moment in the dishwater. “I assumed you were including me in the evening off.” He swished a plate beneath the tap and set it in the drying rack. “Was I wrong to think that?”

“No, but…” Jack chewed his lip. “I thought you might be inclined to stay and help me out with some of the backlog.” And then, Jack thought, when they had finished a reasonable amount of paperwork, they could retire to his bunker and…

Ianto interrupted his fantasy with a sigh. “I work hard too, Jack. And I really do want to watch _The Apprentice_.” He glanced at his watch. “If I leave in the next ten minutes, I can even get takeaway before…”

“Fine,” Jack scowled. “Leave that for the morning and go. I wouldn’t want to keep you from your hot date with Lord Sugar-Whatsisname.”

Ianto didn’t need told twice. He dried his hands, retrieved his suit jacket, and was on his way to the cog door when Jack called to him.

“Would you really marry Toshiko?” Jack rotated to watch him, arms still folded over his chest. He was trying hard not to be cross that Ianto had scorned his bed for a television show about board meetings, or business practices, or whatever equally dull things were discussed on a show like _The Apprentice_ , but it was an effort.

Ianto raised an eyebrow as he turned back to Jack. “What is this, a game of Shag, Kill, or Marry?”

Jack shrugged. “Sure, why not? You still have eight minutes.” He grinned. “Me, Tosh, Owen. Go.”

Ianto rolled his eyes. “Fine. I suppose it’s cheating to kill Owen since he’s already dead, but I’m not doing either of the other things with him.” Ianto scarcely paused to think over the other options. “Shag you, marry Tosh.”

Some part of Jack’s heart he hadn’t been aware had been hovering in anticipation sank like a stone. “You wouldn’t marry me?”

Ianto shrugged easily. “I already know you’re good in bed, but Tosh would let me watch _The Apprentice_ every week if we were married. Shag you, marry her. Best of both worlds.” He slung his jacket over his shoulder, turned on his heel, and stepped through the cog door.

Jack gritted his teeth, furious at his team for rebelling, at Ianto for brushing him off, and most of all, at himself for letting it bother him so much. The grinding gears of the lift doors taunted him with Ianto’s grand exit. “I love you, too!” he shouted, his lip curling in a sneer.

“Good night, Jack,” Ianto called back. The lift doors closed on the words.


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

Norton Folgate: "Ianto Jones—he really cares for you. He just won't see reason on that point, the silly booby. [ . . . ] He thinks he's the luckiest man in the world, because he's got you.”

— _Torchwood: Outbreak_

* * *

 

The fortnight after Gwen’s wedding scarcely improved matters. The team was already weary from fighting the Nostrovite and trying to salvage the reception, and the rift did not give them a holiday simply because one of their number was off on her honeymoon.

The tension that had hovered between Jack and Ianto since their conversation the previous week hadn’t broken until Gwen’s wedding reception, when Ianto made the first move at reconciliation by cutting in on Jack’s dance with Gwen. It was the first time in weeks that Jack had held Ianto close, and as they swayed to the music, he realized just how much he missed their quiet, intimate moments together. He pressed his cheek against Ianto’s and silently resolved to try harder.

Exactly one week later, the bomb arrived.

All things considered, it was a miracle that Cardiff still had an operational mass transit system. Between deadly Weevil attacks, omnivorous human passengers, and alien tourists with a flagrant disregard for traffic signals, the beleaguered Cardiff City Transport Services had had to replace half a dozen buses since the start of the year.

The bomb had most likely landed somewhere on the outskirts of the city, judging by the rift energy Toshiko had detected, but before Torchwood could retrieve it, it had made its way onto a public bus with the help of the deranged political activist who had discovered it. The local police had evacuated the bus and dealt with the terrorist, but Torchwood had received a desperate call for help after the bomb squad had given up trying to figure out the alien mechanism.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Toshiko said wonderingly, once they’d taken over the scene and climbed aboard the bus. The bomb was the size of a large suitcase, and wedged between two seats, making it awkward to access. “It appears to be entirely organic in nature. No wonder the bomb squad was stymied.”

Owen peered over her shoulder. “So, what, you cut a stem instead of the red wire?”

Toshiko shook her head and fiddled with the scanning device she held in her lap. “Not so simple. It’s still a mechanical device, but one made from organic proteins that synthesize their own own chemical components.”

“So it’s a self-arming bomb?” Jack asked, leaning over the back of the seat for a better view.

“Clever,” put in Ianto. “We’re going to be blown up by triffids.”

“Better than Krynoids, I guess,” added Jack.

The other two stared blankly at them, then returned to the bomb without comment.

“So how’s it looking?” Jack asked after Toshiko had spent another few minutes scanning and probing the device.

“I’m using the database to compare the molecular structure to known alien species. That should give me an idea how it works, which will help me figure out how to dismantle it without triggering an explosion.”

Owen dropped into a seat and extended his legs into the bus aisle. “Couldn’t we just douse it in herbicide to kill it?”

“It’s not a living plant. It’s a fully mechanical device constructed of organic elements, only some of which are plantlike.” She cocked her head at the screen of her laptop, which was balanced on the corner of the next bus seat. “Interesting. The sample I tested bears a close resemblance to the parietal cells of several species.”

“What are those?” asked Ianto.

“In the human body, they’re what secrete gastric fluid,” Owen explained.

“Never mind what it’s made of. Can you disarm it?” Jack pressed. “Or do we need to tow this bus out of the city and detonate it someplace safe?”

“I’m working on that.” Toshiko frowned at the scanner’s readouts. “It’s giving off very minimal radiation. Not enough for that to be a component of the bomb, but I think it may be part of a timing device. It’s probably based on the rate of radioactive decay.”

“So the radioactive material hits half-life, and then… boom?”

She nodded. “Something like that. It’s definitely using biochemical activation, and I think I’ve worked out how it actually triggers. But since the process had already begun by the time we arrived, I can’t accurately calculate how much time is left before the bomb detonates.”

“So it might go off before we can get it out of the city.” Jack rubbed his chin. “Any idea what the blast radius would be?”

Toshiko shrugged. “I can’t be certain without looking inside, but judging by the level of technology and the chemical makeup, I’d estimate about a city block, give or take.”

Owen moved back to the next row of seats.

“So what options do we have?” asked Jack.

“Our best bet is to block the triggering mechanism. It’s designed to use a simple chemical reaction. See this bit, here?” She used the probe to indicate a globular extension mounted on an arm over the top of the box. Its open lower end tapered into a funnel, giving it the look of an inverted onion. “From what I can tell, this chamber is where the triggering agent is synthesized. Once the radiation reaches critical decay, the organic elements inside will begin producing a chemical agent—most likely a strong acid, judging by the parietal cells—which will eventually exit here—” she pointed to the funnel-shaped end of the chamber “—and drip into this.” The probe moved to a narrow flask-like structure just below the end of the funnel. In the bottom of the flask was a small gelatinous blob. “Analysis shows this substance has an extremely high pH value.”

Jack whistled. “That’ll make a mess.”

Toshiko nodded. “See that perforation in the bottom, around the gel? It’s designed to break _into_ the case.”

“What does that mean?”

“That’s how the bomb is triggered. It’s sort of brilliant in its simplicity: Drop acid into an alkaline substance, causing a volatile chemical reaction. The force of that reaction blows the seal in the bottom of the flask, most likely triggering another reaction internally, and the whole thing goes off.”

Owen frowned. “So what we’re looking at is basically a box of baking soda with a bottle of vinegar hanging over it?”

“Multiply that explosive force by a factor of a hundred, but yes. But that’s just the ignition key.” Toshiko pointed to the bulk of the bomb, wedged between the seats. “This is the engine. So it’s more like vinegar and baking soda sitting on a box of dynamite.”

“But if we can stop the vinegar, the dynamite won’t go off.” Jack blew out a breath. “Okay, that’s a simpler problem to solve. Is there any way to—”

He was interrupted by a high-pitched whine, as of escaping gas, and as they turned to the device they saw the sides of the onion chamber beginning to twitch.

Toshiko checked the scanner and swore under her breath. “We must have hit critical decay. I think the process is beginning.”

“What do we do?” Owen rose to his feet. “How do we stop it?”

“I don’t know! Let me think…”

“Not a lot of time for thinking,” Jack warned, watching the organic globe begin to inflate. “Tosh? Can you take it apart?”

“Not safely.” Toshiko was digging frantically through her kit, discarding items right and left. “It’s fixed in place, and if I damage the chamber trying to remove it, it might burst and douse us all in acid _and_ set off the bomb. I could do it back at the Hub, but I don’t have anything here to contain it safely.”

Jack crouched to examine the connection between the funnel opening and the flask. “Okay. There’s a little gap here. Can we put something between the containers? Catch the acid in a cup, or something?”

“It’s less than a centimeter. I don’t have anything that will fit into a space that small. And even if I did, it would have to be acid-resistant. Glass, or lead, or something.” She looked toward the front of the bus. “Maybe a… something like a stainless steel teaspoon? Look around for something we could use to divert the flow of acid.” She bent over the bomb again. “Though we still don’t have any way to contain it, so it might just overflow into the flask…”

Ianto had collected the detritus from the seats. “I’ve got a plastic fork, two paper coffee cups, and an expired Tesco coupon.”

“What if I stick my finger in the opening?” Jack asked suddenly. They all stared at him in horror, and he shook his head. “Definitely not my first choice, but we’re running out of options here!”

“It would slow the process for a few minutes, until the acid ate through your skin and set off the bomb anyway.”

“Can we neutralize the acid?” Owen patted down his pockets and glanced around the bus again, searching for supplies. “Damn, if I were in my lab I could…”

“That gel will do a great job of neutralizing the acid in about thirty seconds,” Jack interjected, glancing out the window at the nearby buildings. “And then we can kiss the east wing of University Hospital goodbye. That is, if any of our lips survive the explosion.”

“Not helping, Jack!” Toshiko cried, tossing her bag aside. She pressed her eyes closed, sweat beading on her forehead as she tried desperately to solve the puzzle. “There has to be some way to neutralize it…”

“Looks like that thing’s almost full,” observed Owen, instinctively backing toward the exit. “Tosh? Jack? Any brilliant ideas before we all become confetti?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t stop it!” Toshiko sobbed.

Jack seized her shoulders and pushed her toward the door. “Out!” he shouted. “All of you, out! Run, get as far away as you can!” He leaped to the back of the bus and kicked open the emergency exit. “Owen, go! Ianto—” He whirled to see Ianto bending over the device. “Ianto! Get out, now!”

Ianto straightened, wiping his hands on a handkerchief. “I think I’ve fixed it,” he called.

Jack started toward him, intent on dragging him out, then staggered to a halt as the meaning of his words registered. “What?”

Ianto pointed at the bomb. “I’ve stopped it. For now.” He tucked his hands into his pockets. “I mean, it’s not permanent, but I think it should hold long enough to get it safely out of the city.”

Toshiko and Owen crept tentatively back toward the bomb, and Jack crouched to stare at the mechanism. The lower end of the funnel and the top of the narrow beaker were thickly clogged with some tacky beige-colored substance. “What did you do?” Jack demanded. “What _is_ that?”

“Chewing gum." Ianto indicated the battered bus seat beside them. "It’s an older bus, and not very clean. I figured there’d be loads of gum stuck beneath the seats.” He glanced at Toshiko. “You said it had to be acid-resistant. Gum base is basically synthetic rubber, and it can’t be broken down by stomach acid, so I thought…”

Jack seized his face mid-sentence and kissed him full on the lips. “Ianto Jones, I love you,” he laughed, giddy relief coursing through him. “You’re brilliant. Chewing gum!” He turned to Toshiko, who had also succumbed to a nervous giggle. “How long do you think that will hold it?”

She knelt by the bomb. “It's packed pretty tight, and Ianto’s right—the gum doesn’t appear to be reacting much with the acid. I don’t see any signs of pressure damage in the chamber itself, so I don't think it will rupture. It ought to keep long enough for Owen and I to get what we need from the Hub to contain it safely.”

“All right. You two take the SUV back to the Hub and pack up whatever you need. Ianto and I will arrange for this thing to be moved out of the city, so we’re not risking lives if it springs a leak. I’ll call you with the location to meet us as soon as we’re under way.”

Owen and Toshiko exited at the front of the bus, and when Jack turned back to speak to Ianto, the younger man had vanished. Jack stepped to the rear exit and saw him hurrying across the pavement toward the perimeter of police, fists shoved deep in his pockets. Even at this distance, Jack could see that his ears were bright red.

Jack sighed as he realized what he’d done. He hadn’t meant to say the words, but he’d been carried away by relief and pride, and they had slipped out. It didn’t matter that he’d finally said what he’d been meaning to—the timing and circumtances had stripped all meaning from the phrase. Worse yet, Jack had said it in front of Ianto’s colleagues. In front of Owen, especially, who would probably take the piss for weeks.

Well, if necessary he’d have a stern word with Owen, and make sure that Ianto didn’t suffer for Jack’s poor sense of timing. In the meantime, they had a bomb to relocate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:  
> ● The Weevil attack on the bus takes place in the Torchwood novel _Pack Animals_ , by Peter Anghelides.  
> ● The famished omnivorous humans are from the Torchwood novel _Slow Decay_ , by Andy Lane.  
> ● Krynoids, a species of deadly tentacled alien plant pods, are a classic Doctor Who enemy from _Doctor Who and the Seeds of Doom_ by Philip Hinchcliffe.  
>  ● Triffids are carnivorous plants from the science-fiction classic _Day of the Triffids_ by John Wyndham, which had the misfortune to be made into a terrible low-budget monster movie—one which Ianto has doubtless watched on late-night television at some point.
> 
> Also, thanks to Gmariam for providing helpful commentary as I hammered out this chapter, and convincing me it was fine to let Ianto save the world with chewing gum. :)


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

Jack: "I love you so, so much."

— _Torchwood: Outbreak_

* * *

After his verbal slip on the bus, Jack promised himself that he wouldn’t say anything to Ianto about his feelings unless it was in more appropriate circumstances. Ideally, it should be someplace quiet and romantic, where he could focus entirely on Ianto and have a serious conversation about their relationship.

But then… he really couldn’t be blamed for his actions while under the influence, could he?

The crises had abated a little after Gwen returned from her honeymoon, bearing souvenirs for all and an enviable tan. Gwen was as good as her word, taking the overnight shifts and making up for the work she’d missed before her wedding. The others, provided with an opportunity to catch up on lost sleep, soon forgot about their resentment and frustration. Jack didn’t know what Gwen said to Rhys to explain her extra-long hours at Torchwood, but he was grateful that she seemed to have restored the team’s peace and equanimity.

To burn off the stress of the past several weeks, the group had fallen into a pattern of going out for a pint (or three) at one of the Mermaid Quay pubs after they’d finished for the day. Jack joined them occasionally, but more often than not he stayed back at the Hub to monitor the rift, or catch up on paperwork, or deal with the bureaucratic nonsense that came part and parcel with working directly for the crown. Sometimes Ianto volunteered to stay in his stead, but Jack sent him along with the others. Ianto needed time to unwind just like everyone else, and since Jack didn’t really drink anything but water anyway, it made sense for him to be the one to sit out.

Besides, he knew they liked to collectively complain about his leadership from time to time, and letting them vent their frustrations safely around a pub table prevented the pressure from building up to an explosion in the Hub.

But while this was therapeutic for his employees, it meant Jack felt the strain of the previous weeks even more acutely, and the stress was constantly building. Ianto helped, of course; on the nights Gwen had charge of the Hub, Ianto took Jack home, fed him properly, and set about relieving his stress with a singleminded dedication that bordered on obsession. Those nights, when Jack’s soul had been reduced to a molten puddle by his lover’s ministrations, he gazed at Ianto sleeping beside him and tried to imagine the perfect setting to offer his heart.

During the day, however, the battles of Torchwood took their toll, and gradually Jack became aware of a twinge of envy when he saw his team leaving for the pub. Some days, he felt he could kill for an opportunity to cut loose and get roaring, rollicking drunk, as he sometimes had in his youth. Sure, he treated himself to a scotch or a whiskey now and again, but for some reason he didn’t quite understand, his accelerated healing ability reduced the effect of alcohol on his system. Even when he drank to excess, he found himself sober again within the hour—and in Torchwood, an hour wasn’t _nearly_ long enough to forget.

* * *

The flask must have come through the rift relatively recently, for the contents were still fresh and potent. Torchwood didn’t learn of its existence until it was circulating on the black market for alien artifacts that had grown up in Cardiff over the decades. The label on the canister was torn and smudged, and most of the local alien enthusiasts couldn’t read Bathirian anyway, so the vacuum seal was still intact when Gwen brought it back to the Hub.

Jack _could_ read Bathirian, and even if he hadn’t known the language, he would have recognized the iconic logo stamped on the container. He could scarcely believe his eyes—or his luck.

“I’ll get the translation program on this right away,” Toshiko assured him as Gwen handed over the object. “We’ll find out what this is, and if it’s dangerous.”

“Don’t bother.” Jack swept the flask out of her grasp. “I know exactly what it is, and it shouldn’t fall into the wrong hands. I’ll take care of it.”

Toshiko frowned at this breach of protocol. “We should at least record it for the archives, though. What is it?”

Jack shook his head, feeling only slight guilt for his deception. “It’s going in my secure archives. I’ll handle the paperwork.” He made a show of looking at his watch. “In fact, you’ve all done so well today, why don’t you take off early?”

Gwen stared at him and checked the clock. “Jack, it’s only just gone five. Are you sure—”

“Sure, I’m sure. Go have a drink. Go home to your husband. You _are_ married now, aren’t you?” He grinned madly at her. “Surprise Rhys. Take him out on a date.”

They had all been suspicious of this sudden generosity, but none of the team were willing to press the issue when an alien-free evening was on the table, so it was only a matter of minutes before Jack retired alone to his office with his prize.

He set the flask on the desk and released the hopeful breath he’d been holding. Earth’s alcoholic beverages might not work for him any more, but _this_ was a real treat, even if it proved not to have the same effect on his metabolism that it had once had. Jack hadn’t tasted real hypervodka since before his first death more than a century ago, and the last time he’d indulged in the exotic liquor… well, that had been an evening to remember. Or _not_ remember, as the case may be. It was all pleasantly hazy, but he had awakened nestled among a pile of warm bodies, with lipstick and love bites in places he wouldn’t have expected.

Well, there was no chance of anything like that happening tonight, but that was fine. Tonight he would be drinking alone, but at least he would be _drinking_. Jack took a deep breath and broke the seal.

Unlike alcoholic beverages, which merely relaxed or sedated the drinker, hypervodka was designed to offer a full spectrum of experiences: A blend of pharmacological stimulants produced a euphoric high, while potent intoxicants reduced one’s inhibitions to almost nothing. It was a dangerous and expensive indulgence, but Jack had never found anything else quite like it in all his travels.

Normally, bartenders would dilute the bottled cocktail with soda or ice before serving it, but this flask contained the pure, concentrated form, and Jack didn’t want to risk weakening the effect. He needn’t have worried on that account: Hypervodka, as it turned out, still had enough kick to send him sailing even in his faster-recovering immortal state.

He was flying after the first shot of the potent syrup, and he’d launched himself into orbit with two more before Ianto Jones entered his office. Jack blinked up at him through the kaleidoscope his vision had become. “Yanjo Tones,” he slurred, then shook his head and concentrated. “Ianto… Jones. What can I foo der you?”

He couldn’t quite focus on Ianto’s movements, but he was fairly certain the young man did not look pleased. “On her way out, Tosh mentioned that you had a new artifact that hadn’t been catalogued.” He pointed to the canister on the desk. “Should I assume that’s it?”

Jack tried to put a protective hand over the open top of the flask, but only succeeded in tipping it sideways. Ianto darted forward and righted it before it could spill.

“Oops,” Jack murmured, then giggled. He felt as though he were floating, and seeing Ianto suddenly gave him ideas. “Hyver…cod… Hy-per-vod-ka,” he tried to enunciate. “It’s good stuff. Wanna drink?”

Ianto peered closely at Jack’s face, and his mouth turned down in disgust. “I’ve never seen you drunk before. I don’t think I like it.”

Jack tried to pout, but the effort made his head swim. “Not drunk. _Wired_. This’s not orindary liquor.”

“I can see that.” Ianto stepped around the chair and got his hands beneath Jack’s arms. “Can smell it, too. Ugh. Come on, get up.” He tugged at Jack’s arms.

Jack, loaded with the stimulants that gave hypervodka its name, sprang suddenly to his feet and pulled Ianto in for a sloppy kiss. “Not drunk,” he repeated, grinning madly. “Jus’ flying high. It’s fun, up here. You should join me.” He nuzzled Ianto’s ear. “You can fly with me any time.”

Ianto shoved him hard in the chest. “Not with you in this condition. Come on, downstairs. You need to sleep this off before the others find out what you’ve been up to.” He raised an eyebrow. “Unless I should call them now, and explain that their boss lied to them and sent them all home so he could get high off alien drugs?”

Jack protested feebly, but with Ianto so close, filling his senses, he could think of no reason not to follow him down to his bunker. Ianto steadied him on the ladder, and the moment Jack’s feet reached the floor, he turned and slung an arm around Ianto’s shoulders. “You’re pretty,” he whispered, trying unsuccessfully to nibble skin as Ianto evaded his embrace. “Really gorgeous. I could look at you all day.” He fumbled at Ianto’s necktie. “Could do more than look.”

Ianto finally slipped out of Jack’s grasp and shoved him toward the bed. “Are you going to undress yourself, or must I do it for you?” Jack’s toothy leer answered that question, and Ianto rolled his eyes before tugging Jack’s boots and belt off. He tucked the holstered Webley securely into his own waistband and turned to go. “You can do the rest yourself. Or sleep like that, if you prefer.”

Jack lunged after him, catching his arm. “Stay with me,” he crooned. “I want you.”

“I’ll bet you do,” Ianto scowled. “And what are the odds you’ll even remember it in the morning?”

Jack shook his head. “I’ll remember. I always remember. Especially you. I could never forget you…”

Ianto turned sharply away and shook his sleeve free of Jack’s grasp. “Get some sleep, Jack. I’ll bring you some coffee early so you can sober up before the others get in.”

“Ianto, please stay,” Jack begged, reaching for him again. “I love you!”

“Don’t,” Ianto snapped, whirling on him with a fierce expression. “Don’t you _dare_. Not when you’re drunk. Not when you’re only trying to get me into your bed.”

Jack’s brow creased in confusion. “But I…”

“I’m not your bloody plaything, Jack!”

Jack blinked wide eyes at him. Ianto drew back suddenly, as though startled by his own outburst. Without another word, he hurried up the ladder, slamming the hatch cover down behind him.

The rest of the night passed in a disjointed blur for Jack, but when he climbed out of his bunker the next morning—nursing a sizable headache, despite his advanced regenerative capabilities—the Bathirian canister had already been catalogued and stored away in the archives. He checked the contents, but the flask was completely empty.


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

Jack: “I’ve never said it properly before!”  
Ianto: “Doesn’t need saying.”  
Jack: “Yes it does! Ianto Jones… I love you.”

— _Torchwood: House of the Dead_

* * *

>     < you get home ok?

Jack pushed Send and stared at the mobile phone in his hand, willing it to light up with a response. He’d been hesitant to send Ianto home at all, given the younger man’s fatigue and injuries, but Ianto had been adamant that he wanted to spend the night in his own bed, and Jack had relented. Ianto had declined to stay over at the Hub ever since the regrettable hypervodka incident, and in hopes of repairing that damage, Jack had allowed Ianto to take the lead in issuing invitations. Injured as he was, there was no chance he would want Jack to stay over tonight. Their time spent together was many things, but “restful” was not one of them.

The whole situation was Jack’s fault, really. Once they realized the Weevil they were tracking was inside the abandoned warehouse, he should have taken point himself, rather than circling around the back while Ianto entered through the front. Ianto had startled the creature just inside the main door, where it was feeding on something rank and fetid. Ianto had tried to subdue it with the spray, but the Weevil had clawed his arm and bowled him into a stack of dilapidated shipping crates as it fled. Before Jack could reach him, the unstable crates had collapsed on top of Ianto, leaving him stunned, badly bruised, and—worst of all, if Ianto’s complaints were to be taken at face value—covered in something that smelled of feces.

Suffice it to say that it was not the romantic evening Jack had planned for them.

Two more minutes passed, and Jack grew more anxious. Even obeying speed limits and traffic signals, the drive from the Hub to Ianto’s should not take more than seventeen minutes. Ianto should have been there by now. Jack set the mobile on his desk and tried not to stare at it.

At last the device vibrated, and Jack practically lunged for it. 

> > Home now. Was driving before, couldn’t answer

Jack’s thumbs flew over the number pad as he punched out a message, cursing at the errors his fumbling fingers caused. Jack was a creature of habit, and he liked the familiarity of the outdated mobile he could dial blind in his pocket, but at times like this, he could understand the rest of the team’s desire to upgrade to more modern devices with proper keyboards.

> < glad you made it home safe  
>  < how are you feeling?

There was another long pause before a message came back.

> > Not my best. Going to scrub off this filth, then to bed

Jack was just beginning to compose a reply when the phone vibrated again, and another line of text appeared. 

> > Is it all right if I come in late tomorrow? Could do with a lie in

Immediately, Jack’s intuition fired warning flares. Ianto rarely asked for time off, and he was almost never late to work. Could he have been more seriously injured than he’d let on? Or was he merely angry at Jack for putting him in danger?

> < of course, take care of yourself

Jack chewed his lip for a moment, then punched at the keypad again.

> < you sure you’re ok? i can come over if you need anything

He waited.

> < i can bring you painkillers  
>  < or soup  
>  < or disinfectant

He waited.

> < or a new suit since yours got ruined

He waited.

> < ianto, you ok? starting to worry since you’re not answering

Another few minutes passed in silence. Jack was rifling through his desk drawer looking for his copy of Ianto's latchkey when the mobile buzzed again, and he opened the message eagerly. 

> > hey just rememberd I have 2 pick up those samples from lab at hspital 2 test want me 2 do that b4 I come in tmrw or wait til we see what rift spits at us 2nite

Jack frowned at the text, trying to make sense of it in the context of Ianto’s previous request—then trying to make sense of it _at_ _all_ —until he looked at the header and realized it had come from Owen’s number. Suddenly, the lack of punctuation and irregular spelling made more sense. He hurriedly punched out a reply.

> < do it later. ianto won’t be in tomorrow morning, we will prob need all hands on deck

He started to flip back to the screen with Ianto’s messages, but Owen’s reply flashed up almost immediately.

> > what wrong w teaboy, he sick or something?

Jack huffed in annoyance—even though Owen’s use of punctuation revealed the depth of his concern, which would normally have pleased him—and answered as briefly as possible.

> < weevil knocked a bunch of crates on him. he’s home now, resting

He _hoped_ Ianto was resting. But he still hadn’t responded to any of Jack’s texts… 

>  > need me 2 come in or go 2 his place 2 patch him up?

Jack hesitated. He’d feel better if Owen looked Ianto over, but on the other hand, Ianto might resent it if Jack interrupted his rest to have the doctor fuss over him.

> < not at the moment. will let you know if he decides otherwise

Just as he was sending that text, the mobile buzzed again, and Jack toggled over to the new message. 

> > Sorry, was in the shower. Right now I don’t need anything but sleep.  
>  > Thanks for the offer though  
>  > And I might take you up on the suit later

Jack breathed a sigh of relief, but another message appeared from Owen before he could reply.

> > ok its not like im sleeping so ill consider myself on call

Jack toggled messages again and finished his reply to Ianto.

> < ok, let me know if you want anything  
>  < also, owen is willing to come over if you need medical attention

This time, Ianto’s reply was immediate. 

> > No  
>  > Dealing with Owen is beyond my ability right now. I just want sleep.  
>  > and stop worrying, I’ll be fine

Jack stared at that. Could he take that message at face value, or was Ianto concealing his true injuries because he thought Jack would be troubled by them? Or was he annoyed at Jack’s attention, and telling him to leave him alone? Or was something else going on? How could he allay Ianto’s concerns without implying that Ianto was a bother to him, and simultaneously not appearing to impose more attention than what was reasonable? Jack ran a hand through his hair. Why did this have to be so _complicated_? He sighed and composed a simple reply.

> < it’s my job to worry about you  
>  < especially when it’s my fault you got hurt

That sent, he quickly switched back to Owen’s text.

> < ianto says he’s fine, so you’re off the hook  
>  < you can go do whatever it is dead people do at night

Ianto’s reply buzzed just as he sent that, and he flipped back to that screen. 

> > I am too tired to actually have the ‘stop blaming yourself for everything’ conversation, but consider yourself told

Jack hesitated before replying. So apparently Ianto wasn’t concerned about being an imposition, but his admonition was confusing. _Of course_ Jack would feel guilty about Ianto’s injuries; how could he not understand that? 

> < i can’t help it, when something like this happens  
>  < i should be protecting you, not putting you in more danger

The mobile buzzed again—another message from Owen. Jack toggled over.  

> > id say sit on rooftops and brood all night but thats ur job 

Jack belatedly recalled Gwen and Toshiko complaining about receiving more frequent late-night texts from Owen now that he was dead and didn’t sleep. He rolled his eyes and shot back a reply. 

> < right now I’m brooding underground. rooftops are all yours

He caught Ianto’s next message just as it appeared on his screen.

> > I can’t believe we’re talking about this by text, at this time of night

Jack winced. They rarely spoke so openly in their face-to-face conversations, and he’d found it somehow easier to be honest behind the shield of an impersonal text message. But he shouldn’t have been so inconsiderate, not when Ianto had already expressed his fatigue multiple times.

> < sorry. we don’t have to do this now. you should rest

The answer came promptly.

> > No, I won’t be able to sleep if I know you’re sitting up all night self-flagellating  
>  > and don’t apologize for that, either

Jack bit his lip and deleted the unsent “I’m sorry” from his screen.

> > You need to realize that not everything happens because of you  
>  > I am responsible for my own actions and their consequences  
>  > as was that Weevil tonight  
>  > as are lots of things that aren’t named Jack Harkness

Jack sighed. He began typing, but another message from Owen interrupted him. 

>  > nah im too scared 2 go up there no idea what u did on those rooftops

Jack rolled his eyes and switched messages again, trying to recapture his train of thought.

> < but i’m in charge, how we do things is my call. if i’d gone in first, like i should have, you wouldn’t have been hurt

Another message from Owen appeared.

> > or who with

Jack briefly considered blocking Owen’s number so he could have his serious conversation with Ianto uninterrupted, but decided to just ignore the stream of messages. Sooner or later Owen would get bored and go harass someone else. He hoped.

The mobile vibrated again, and Ianto’s message appeared on the screen.

> > Then answer this, honestly: Why do you always feel the need to protect me? Why is that so important to you? 

Jack’s heart lurched. Wasn't it obvious? Didn’t Ianto know by now how much he meant to Jack? But he’d asked for an honest answer, so perhaps… Well, there were lots of honest reasons. Jack was the boss, and as such he was responsible for Ianto. He was Ianto’s friend, and wanted him to be safe. And…

Jack found himself typing the true answer before he had even fully processed the question. His finger hovered over the Send button. Even though it wasn’t the romantic setting he’d envisioned, here was a legitimate opportunity, a chance to tell Ianto how he really felt. Was he brave enough to take it? Could he accept the consequences?

The phone vibrated in his hand.

> > not enuf disinfectant in the world 2 clean up after u

Jack groaned aloud. “Shut _up_ , Owen!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the Hub. He quickly tapped the button to toggle messages, and before his courage failed him, he pressed Send. 

> < I love you

Jack held his breath, waiting for the reply. Would there be a reply? What would Ianto say to his confession? Would he accept Jack’s feelings? Did he still feel the same way about Jack? Ianto had never actually said the words, not in this way. Was this too much, too soon?

When the mobile vibrated at last, he sucked in a huge lungful of dry air and nearly choked.

> > sod off u twat

Jack’s eyes passed over the words repeatedly, refusing to accept them. Of all the potential consequences his mind had conceived—even the ones that played out like nightmares—nothing like this had ever entered his imagination.

He finally focused on the text by sheer willpower. With trembling fingers, he scrolled back up in the conversation to see if he’d missed something vital. 

> < you can go do whatever it is dead people do at night  
>  > id say sit on rooftops and brood all night but thats ur job  
>  < right now I’m brooding underground. rooftops are all yours  
>  > nah im too scared 2 go up there no idea what u did on those rooftops  
>  > or who with  
>  > not enuf disinfectant in the world 2 clean up after u  
>  < i love you  
>  > sod off u twat

Jack groaned and dropped his head onto his arms, the mobile slipping to the floor with a clatter. Owen. He’d opened his soul, reached out with all the love and honestly he possessed, and somehow it had gone to _Owen_.

Well, he reasoned, slowly pulling himself together, it could have been worse. Given his response, Owen had likely brushed the words off as some kind of tasteless joke. If he’d accidentally sent that message to Gwen, on the other hand, it might have been disastrous. Torchwood already put enough strain on her marriage without adding to Rhys’s suspicions about Jack and his wife.

The mobile vibrated again, and Jack belatedly realized he’d left Ianto waiting for an answer. He retrieved the phone from the floor, fumbled open the correct message, and scrolled to the bottom.  

> > You still there? I dozed off for a bit. Evidently I’m too tired to do this after all

Jack tried to make his fingers type the words again, but the moment was gone. He couldn’t profess his love when the object of his affections was miserable and half-asleep. He sighed as he typed a safe, practical reply.

> < sorry, guess i need time to think of an answer to that  
>  < but you should go to bed, you need to rest. sleep as long as you need to & i’ll see you whenever you feel up to coming in tomorrow  
>  < sweet dreams x

Jack set the phone on his desk, leaned back in his chair, and stared at the device meditatively. The screen dimmed, then at last turned off.


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

Ianto: "That man, out there, has never actually, properly, _ever_ said he loves me. Not seriously, not without rolling his eyes. Until today—the day he tries to kill me."

— _Torchwood: Outbreak_

* * *

 

By the following spring, Jack had all but given up trying to express his feelings to Ianto. It had gone wrong every time, and he’d at last convinced himself that it would be better for them both if they just accepted whatever was between them here and now, lived in the moment, and didn’t complicate things with talk of love, or commitment, or a future that they might not even have.

Losing Toshiko and Owen had brought _that_ truth home with brutal clarity.

But then Cardiff had been struck by the Good Thinking virus, and Jack had revealed his secret affections in the most horrifying way possible. After everything Jack had said and done while infected, it was a miracle Ianto was still willing to remain in the same room with him—let alone _want_ to be near him—and Jack found himself treading on eggshells during the entire cleanup process, watching Ianto for any sign that his feelings had changed. He wanted to believe that Ianto still loved him, but what man could continue to feel that way about someone who had threatened and terrorized him the way Jack had?

Ianto had assured him that everything was fine, that he wasn’t bothered by it, but Jack hadn’t forgotten the way he’d shrugged off Jack’s praise, or shied away from Jack’s kiss in the Hub when Jack had called him his hero.

Still, they went through the motions, pretending everything was business as usual—because that was what they always did when their world fell apart. Time after time, tragedy after tragedy, they covered up the scars and moved forward as though not speaking about something could unmake it.

After the immediate crises had abated, they’d shut down the computers and absconded with a few food tins from the relief packages. Neither of them wanted to spend another moment in the Hub, what with Jack’s infection, the disastrous lockdown, and Norton Folgate’s taunting fresh in their memories, so they had retired to Ianto’s for the evening.

Jack followed Ianto meekly into the kitchen and set down the bag of tins that neither of them wanted for supper. He peeked into the pantry and spotted a partial box of spaghetti. Spag bol wasn’t exciting, but it sounded better than tinned sardines and beans on toast. “I can cook something, if you like,” he offered. “Save the tins for when we’re truly desperate.”

Ianto’s mouth quirked up at the corners. “Saints and angels defend us from that day. Go ahead; I’m fine with anything. I’ll make us some coffee, yeah?”

Jack put the water on to boil, then watched Ianto as he moved gingerly about the kitchen, managing utensils one-handed. In addition to the bullet wound Jack knew he bore in his upper arm, the younger man still sported a black eye and several minor contusions from the skirmish he and Gwen had tried to contain, and he was favoring one leg when he walked. A few angry red scratches were visible above the line of his collar. Jack cringed when he realized those had been inflicted by his own hands, as he’d tried to strangle Ianto in his office.

This, Jack suddenly knew, was the breaking point. Even if Ianto was willing to endure silently, Jack could not bear to cover this up and pretend it had never happened.

“Ianto?” Jack touched his lover’s sleeve—gently, because although his memories under the influence of the virus were hazy, he remembered grappling with him over the desk, and guessed there were more bruises hiding beneath his jacket. “Can we talk about… what happened?”

Ianto swallowed visibly before turning back to the coffee machine. “There’s nothing to talk about, Jack. It happened. It’s over now.”

“It’s not over until I know you’re really okay.” He touched one of the welts on Ianto’s neck. “That _we_ _’re_ okay.”

“I already told you we were.”

“I tried to kill you.”

“And I shot you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

Jack shook his head. “I mean, I’m sorry you had to shoot me. I know that wasn’t easy for you, virus or no virus.”

Ianto shrugged stiffly. “I’ve had better days, I’ll admit.” In a lighter tone he added, “Though you shot me as well, so I suppose we’re even on that account.”

“I’m really sorry,” Jack repeated. “I should never have let myself hurt you. I should have been stronger, should have fought it the way you did…”

Ianto sighed and set down the tin of coffee. “Jack, it wasn’t your fault. I know it was the virus, making you say all those things. I’m not afraid of you, I don’t think you’re going to try to kill me in my sleep, and I want you to stay here tonight. End of discussion.”

Jack frowned. “It wasn’t the virus.”

Ianto turned slowly to face him, eyes wide. “What?”

“I mean—yes, it was the virus that made me want to kill you. But it didn’t make me say things I didn’t mean. The virus couldn’t create anything that didn’t already exist.”

It was Ianto’s turn to frown. “Didn’t exist, like… a bunch of wires in your veins, or a desire to murder the people closest to you?”

“Okay, bad choice of words. What I mean is, the virus couldn’t _create_ a target, only select one. It was designed to modify the infected subject’s behavior toward the person they had the strongest emotional…” Ianto’s eyes were beginning to glaze over, and Jack shook his head in frustration. “What I’m saying is, what I said while I was infected was true. The reason I tried to kill _you_ …” He rested his hands on Ianto’s shoulders and took a deep breath. This was the moment he’d been waiting for, the chance to share everything he’d been holding back, to bare his heart to the person who mattered most to him. “Ianto Jones, I lo—”

“Don’t.” Ianto put a finger to Jack’s mouth to stop him speaking. “Don’t say it, Jack. As much as I’ve wanted to hear you say what I think you’re about to… Today is _not_ the day.”

“I knew it,” Jack lamented when Ianto moved his hand away. The words tumbled out, propelled by his fears. “Look, I don’t blame you for not trusting me, after everything that happened. I hurt you, and I probably…”

“Jack!” Ianto interrupted again, shaking his head. “It’s not that, not at all. It’s just that when you said it before, you were trying to kill me, and… I just don’t think it will have the effect you want if you say it right now. So don’t tell me.” Jack’s shoulders slumped, but suddenly Ianto was pressed against him, arms circling his waist. “ _Show_ me.”

Jack met Ianto’s gaze, and his heart leaped at the affection and forgiveness he found there. He brought up his hands to cradle Ianto’s head and kissed him as gently as he could, mindful of the split lip and the bruise along his jaw. Ianto, evidently less concerned with his injuries, returned the kiss with vigor. When they broke apart, Jack stayed close, ghosting his lips over Ianto’s cheek. “So does this mean we’re okay?”

“We’re okay, Jack.” Ianto smiled against his ear. “Now, and always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I’ve finally joined Actual Fandom (TM) by writing a five-and-one! (And a romance, to boot.) Now I get my fanfic writer merit badge, right?
> 
> This story was prompted by two things: First, Ianto’s line in _Outbreak_ (quoted above) about “not without rolling his eyes” confirmed that Jack DID say he loved him at some point, perhaps facetiously, and I thought it would be interesting to look at some ways that might have happened. Second, I was working on another story when I came up with the scene where Jack is injured and Ianto is upset that he won’t let him treat his wounds. It ended up not working for that story, but I liked the idea and thought it was a nice way for Ianto to reveal his own feelings, so I used it here as the impetus for Jack to start thinking about it.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Feel free to share your own thoughts or theories in the comments.


End file.
